


Prompt - I never loved you

by RiddleRedCoats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, I dunno how this came to be, i like fluff i swear, sad!, this is the artfuldodger fault, tiny au, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 20:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddleRedCoats/pseuds/RiddleRedCoats
Summary: Prompt of the Sentence Meme; “I never loved you.” asked by artfuldodger.So this an AU, set in the HP world where everything is basically the same but in which Snape couldn’t kill Dumbledore in HBP. Just a little snippet of this Alternate Universe. A little OOC Voldemort, maybe?(Also, I know that Bella wasn’t there when Dumbledore died, but just go with it, please?)





	Prompt - I never loved you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheArtfulDodger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtfulDodger/gifts).

It was mid-May 1998 and the world was a different place than Voldemort had planned on it being. At this time last year he, Bellatrix and Snape were making plans to finally put an end to Dumbledore and his far-reaching influence, after all, he wasn’t truly counting on Draco Malfoy to actually kill Dumbledore.

By June, a mere eleven months ago even if he felt like an eternity had passed, everything had gone according to plan; the boy had gotten Bellatrix and his – well, hers, really, sometimes it felt like – Death Eaters into the school, and the only thing that had been left to do was kill the old fool.

But something had gone wrong.

Snape, who Bellatrix had claimed – over and over and over again – to be a traitor to no avail, had indeed been turned and, in the end, wouldn’t perform the deed. Worse still, not one of his Death Eaters had returned, only the boy – **_her _**nephew, of course – had managed to escape.

The boy had escaped and had run home to his mothers arms to tell them of the massacre the Order – led by Moody, forewarned by Snape of the Dark Lord’s plans – had unleashed upon his Death Eaters. He’d seen in the boy’s mind and knew that at least Greyback, the Snatchers he’d sent along and the Carrows were dead.

Bellatrix, the sole survivor of the group, had been able to stall everyone long enough for Draco to escape, dealing blow after blow to the Order warriors – the Weasley Matriarch was dead, as was Mundungus and Moody had lost his other eye along with half his skull – but she couldn’t hold on against eight skilled warrior forever. As Draco neared the _apparation_spot near the end of theForbidden Forest, Bellatrix had managed a last long look, before thrusting her nephew over the threshold so he could _disaparate_ out of there. She turned to the battle deflecting Dumbledore’s spell but not before giving her nephew her necklace, **_the _**necklace that he had given to her.

Sentimental perhaps, and although there **_was_** a sentimental value to her gesture, it was more pragmatic than it seemed, the necklace doubled as a portkey to his – _their? _– house. _Always sentimentally practical, that woman. _She, even in what could have been her last moments, had protected them… Had protected him. A lump formed in his throat thinking of the last gesture he knew her to make.

But she wasn’t dead. He would have known. They had taken her. _Why, why, why, why…_

He had been dealt a heavy blow. Heavier than he even knew. The leaderless Death Eaters he could deal with, Rodolphus being able to do a passable job – if subpar in comparison – in Bellatrix absence. The werewolves had Greyback’s second in command, and the Carrows had never been terribly essential. The others didn’t bear mentioning.

The movement – his movement – while not thriving was chugging along well enough, in better condition even than the Order was. He had, after all, raided every single outpost of that little organization that he could find. Had left rivers of blood and mountains of corpses in his wake, in his attempts to find her. No stone left unturned, not until he had her.

Bellatrix’ absence… He couldn’t explain it, he had spent long years without her, without her warmth, without her company, without her **_care_** – he never did like the word ‘love’, even if was what she felt for him, he knew it to be so – but this time… It hurt him, affected him, depleted him to a point he could barely keep himself focused.

But all that was about to end. Rodolphus had found her, at long last. Hidden at a cottage deep in Scottish lands. _McGonagall, _he thought darkly, _Of course._

He entered his home – he’d been away on a mission on the Continent, the war didn’t stop on her account although it should have, perhaps – and Rodolphus quickly met him at the door.

“Where is she?” He asked as he put his cloak down, boundless energy about him.

“Third floor.” Voldemort moved immediately, “She’s in perfect condition. Although, she’s bound.” Rodolphus whispered casually as Voldemort rushed to push him to go away to his own house and leave him and Bella alone, finally. “There’s something you should…”

Voldemort didn’t give him time to speak, “I’ll deal with whatever it is, Rodolphus. Leave us.”

“Very well.” Rodolphus sighed and ran his hand through his greying red-ish brow hair, “She’s in her office.” With that, the man turned to leave, leaving Voldemort to resume his fast pace to meet her.

Ah, of course, Rodolphus would put her where she’d feel more in control. More at ease. Her office was on the third floor of the Manor, well away from his so they both could work in private without any distractions. It mattered not, they’d reach their bedroom easily enough from there.

He paused for beat at the door of her office, unprepared to see her again after nearly a year of separation. How he craved her… How he yearned for her worship. With a deep breath he prepared himself to see her and pushed the door open.

And there she was. Whole, healthy, with tear-filled grey eyes, kneeling, bounded and gagged and set against May’s blue sky, the large open window letting in the warm sun.

And his hard heart, unharden a little when he saw her there; with the Sun on her shoulders, wind in her black hair, the smell of her perfume, and suddenly he felt only a man before her. Not Lord, not the ever-in-control Dark Lord. Just Tom, despite his distaste for the name. He was just that, himself.

He rushed to her and relished in her trembling. She was always so sensitive to his presence after a long while apart. Always shuddered when he was near after a long absence and they would barely leave the bed for the first day after their reunion. His lips quirked up in a small smile as he knelt beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured softly the so rarely uttered words – words, in fact, spoken to her and her alone – he approached her and started undoing all the binds, “I didn’t go with them. I was out of the country when Rodolphus called me.”

When he finished untying her legs, he was caught by surprise when her foot swung out to strike him. It hit him in the shoulder, and even as the pain hit him it was nothing compared to her apparent rejection of him. _What the hell… _He panicked as he saw her rise and dash towards the open window – of the **_third _**floor, was she trying to kill herself? – and with little bit of wandless magic bound her again.

She fell hard against the wall and pushed herself closer to it and away from him. With heavy breathing, Voldemort ungagged her.

“L-Let me g-go.” She whispered and seemed unable to meet his eyes, to even look at his face. How unlike her. Her voice was small, trembling as she pleaded him, “P-please, l-let me go.”

He stood stock-still. She wanted to **_go_**? _Why, why, why, why…_

“Why?” It took a while for him to register that the broken voice had come from him. He watched her advert her eyes from him, not in deference but in **_fear_**. She hadn’t feared him in a very long time. He repeated the question, voice hoarse as his throat seemed clogged with something he couldn’t identify, “Why?”

“P-please let me go.” This-this **_body_** had Bellatrix’ face and her magic – which was so familiar to him – but his Bella had never sounded so… pitiful. “I-I… please, I don’t b-belong here. I-I want to go h-home.”

He snarled, “You’re home.” He couldn’t help but correct, harshly.

Bellatrix whimpered under his mild – oh, ever so mild – temper, “P-Please, s-sir…M-My Lord.” She chocked on the words as if she’s never said them before, “Y-You’ve had me before, p-please, n-no more, I-I don’t want…” she gasped as if some part of her understood the torment she was causing him, but nevertheless, she continued, “I-I don’t **_want_** anymore.”

“Bella,” he gasped her name, pain in every inflection of his voice, and uttered the words that had never truly passed between them, though he knew them to be true, “You **_love_** me.”

“I never…” She gasped as if she couldn’t finish the sentence, her grey-nearly-white eyes were already clouded with tears, and as she forced out the words through her pain-filled throat, she for the first time didn’t stumble through her words, “I never **_loved_** you.”

He faltered. His gaze fell from hers and his legs near swayed and, unbidden, a hand rose to his chest as her words pierced his mind._What…What did she say?_

“I never loved you.” She repeated as if she’d heard his thoughts.

He winced at that. **_Bella_** knew his thoughts and would respond to his unspoken question. But the thought of this… imposter doing the same was unbearable. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. He refused to believe her. She **_loved_** him. Madly. He knew **_that_**. When he lifted his eyes from the floor to look at her, her eyes were wide as if she could not believe her own words.

“Why,” a sob escaped her throat, her hands rose to her chest clutching around her heart as if she had felt the same torturous pain he had, “Why does it **_hurt_** so much?” She sobbed, her lips quivering, her eyes wet and clouded from tears.

He said nothing. Merely looked at her, his red eyes stinging with the beginning of long unshed tears as her torment spread to him. She filled the silence with questions he had the answers to but couldn’t bring himself to explain to her.

“Why does it hurt when I look at you? Why does it hurt to have you so close to me, and even more so when you’re farther away? Why does it hurt when I say…”

She cried harder, loud heavy breaths escaped the lips he’d kissed a thousand times before but knew not if he’d kiss again. Wouldn’t, as long as she remained as she was. Couldn’t, not until she was herself again. He remained silent, distant and firm against her cries.

As she sobbed and recoiled into herself, making herself tiny against the wall, something twisted inside of him. He had her back, but she was broken well and truly this time. She was no longer Bellatrix. Azkaban hadn’t managed to break her, but **_they _**had… He’d killed them. Tear them down limb to limb until nothing remained. His blood boiled and sang with the thought.

Bellatrix’ shudders and weeping arose him from his more degenerate thoughts, and he realized that he had more pressing concerns. He would have to fix this – **_her_** – first. And he would. It was some sort of spell, surely. Or a potion. Either way, the evidence would be in her mind.

With a determined move, he removed his wand from its holster. For her, because of her defences – defences he’d help create – he’d have to actually, for the first time in years, utter the spell. When he raised his wand at her, he flinched and his face torturously twisted, at her terrified yell. He pushed her cry from his head and focused on his magic.

“**Legilimens**_._” He uttered the incantation and found himself immersed in her memories.

They passed by quick. Memories of her. With her sisters. At Hogwarts. With Rodolphus. With some boy in her sixth year. _So far so good, _he knew all of her, **_this_** was her.Then, started memories of him. Of **_them_**. They too were the same, unaltered, with the same raw feeling. Same reckless abandon she had given him. Nights together, days spent in company. It all blurred pass him faster and faster as his desperation built, when he found nothing wrong with her memories. The horrors of Azkaban blurred by, the debacle of the department of Mysteries flew by them and then, finally, her capture at Hogwarts.

They took her to an Order outpost – one he had raided several months ago and left as many of his people alive as he had left of the Order’s, when it turned out she wasn’t at that outpost either – and there, they had messed with her mind. They tried Legilimency, torture, blackmail, threats but she held herself steadfast. Her defences had been too strong, even Snape hadn’t broken through, so they decided to break her.

They repeatedly invaded her, ripped through her until her mind simply shattered. Her memories had then spilled out, like a silver river from her, they were unnavigable so forcibly taken they were, but as a blank slate, they had turned her against him, and then submerged her again in her memories, her new perception of him colouring her view of their past. Then, he watched an Order meeting where she spilled his every secret.

_They know. _That thoughtfell second to, _They changed it._

‘It’, being their past. They changed it, her memories of him were twisted, moulded in the image they thought he should represent to her. Torturer. Murder. Abuser. **_Jailer_**_._

Voldemort growled. He’d turn them all to ash.

Her memories were altered, yes, but not by magic. They changed her perception of him. It was simply the way things were now. It was simply the way she thought of him now.

There was nothing he could do.

He felt his head sway under his new reality.

“I never loved you.” The words fall from breathless lips and despite himself, Voldemort felt what seemed to be the last remainder of his heart leap out of his chest. She **_had_** been lying, he knew. But not anymore. Her heart said something but her head another, and for once she chose to follow her head. She talked, compulsively, “I never loved you. I never loved you. I never loved you.” Her hands curled in her hair and she rocked back and forward, riddled with confusion, torn between her head and her heart.

Every repeat was like a sword through his gut. Again. And again. And again.

With a painful sigh he tentatively sat next to her, both of them on the floor, leaning against the wall. He with his head between his knees and she in her own little world, rocking back and forth, uttering that spineless truth over and over.

“I never loved you.

I never loved you.

I never-


End file.
